


Reason Why

by NavigationByAtlas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Drowning, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinda, References to Depression, Romil is Really Depressed (tm) in the 2nd chapter, Sorry Not Sorry, but it gets close, esp in the begining, graphic description of drowning, i had this idea for a reincarnation deal with some vld ocs, im not sure if its graphic but imma tag, klangst, nobody actually commits suicide, so I made it happen, suuuuper angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:30:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NavigationByAtlas/pseuds/NavigationByAtlas
Summary: Would you give up your life for the one you love?Would you throw away everything you’ve ever wanted to protect them?She did. But then, she was never the best at letting go.





	1. "Sometimes I forget that unsaid sentances do not mean unfelt emotions."

“Come on, Artemita, just come with me! I swear, it’ll be so much fun!” 

Artemita tried, she really did. But when he gave her those eyes, fiery red and full of hope, she found it hard to deny him again. Besides, he wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon.

“Alright, alright. Fine, I’ll go with you. But only to see to it that you aren’t hurt.” The whoop he gave made her regret it instantly. The smile that came after was worth it. 

“Thank you so much, Tema! I’m gonna go get ready. Don’t forget to wear something warm!” 

Artemita laughed despite herself. As if she would forget; she hated the cold. Warmth and heat were very much preferable. He deserved this, though. The winter festival was his favorite time of the pheob, and Artemita always managed to find a way out of it. She could go with him, just this once. 

She hadn’t told him yet, but Artemita was leaving soon. He’d be upset, she was sure, but she didn’t have much of a choice. If she didn’t go, everything she had strived for in life would go to waste. She loved him, absolutely, but she needed to leave. He couldn’t depend on her forever, in any case. 

He was dressed in record time, far less bundled than she. The deep reds and browns made him a beacon of warmth and life in the bitter cold of winter. He must have swiped some glitter over his cheekbones because his face twinkled under the soft light of their shared home. He smiled fondly at her. 

“Ready to go, Tema?” He held out his hand, beaming at her. Atremita smiled fondly from behind her thick, blue, woolen scarf. With some difficulty, she pulled a hand clad in a similarly thick mitten from the pocket of her winter coat and clasped it in his. 

“Yes. Let’s go, then.” 

 

When the pair finally arrived downtown, it was dark. Still, the streets were alive with people and laughter. Sweet, smooth music came from a makeshift stage a way down the block. Lights adorned every booth and shop and wood fires burned in small fire pits every so often, each with a handful of people huddled around them to warm their chilly feet and noses. Artemita was lost in thought, taking in the scene when she felt a tug on her hand. 

“Tema, look! They’re selling cider. Let’s go buy some, please? It’ll help you stay warm.” Artemita nodded, letting him lead her to the booth. The vendor smiled, wearing less in the safe warmth of his little shop. 

“What can I get the two of ya’?” He asked. His voice was gruff and friendly. 

“Some cider, please. One for each of us,” Atremita said. The vendor smiled. She held out her hand, three coins in her palm. 

“Only two coins, miss,” said the man, setting two steaming mugs of cider on the counter before them. 

“Keep the extra,” she said, offering a smile of her own. “It’s the festival, after all.”

 

Artemita sat across a small table from him, scarf and mittens discarded on the tabletop. She sipped the hot drink carefully, enjoying the satisfying mix of fruit and spice. 

“That was nice of you.”

“What?”

“To give him the extra piece. It was nice of you.” Artemita flushed a bit, blaming it on the cold air and warm cider. 

“It’s the festival. A time for celebration,” she insisted. His scarlet eyes twinkled with mirth. 

“Yes, you’re right. A time of celebration and good spirits. You know what they say about the festival, after all.” Artemita did not know. It’d been pheobs since she’d celebrated the winter festival.

“No, what do they say?” She could’ve sworn he was stifling a laugh.

“They say that those who fall in love during the winter festival are bound to be together forever,” he said, having leaned in close to whisper it to her. Artemita choked on her cider, slapping a hand over her lips to keep it down. She coughed for a moment, struggling to breathe while he howled with laughter. Wiping her lips on her sleeve, Artemita leaned back in her seat, catching him in a glare while he calmed his laughter to small giggles.

“Oh, come on, Tema. It wasn’t so bad. You should’ve seen your face, too! Like you really were in love with me or something.” Artemita missed the blush that dusted his cheeks as he said it for being lost in her own thoughts.  _ I do love you, _ she willed him to know without her having to say it. _ I have for a long time. _

 

He wanted to go to the river next. Artemita followed him through the busy street to the water. 

“This is my favorite spot,” he said. They had stopped in the middle of a long bridge over the wide river. The outer edges were frozen over with thick ice, but here in the center where the current was strong, the frigid water flowed fast. He leaned on the rail, admiring the rushing water. Artemita stood just behind him. “It reminds me that things don’t ever really stop, you know? Even when it gets cold, nothing stops. Life keeps going.” He turned on his heel with a flourish, smiling brightly at her and leaned back against the rail. 

“I understand,” Artemita said, smiling somewhat ruefully in return. She worried her lip between her teeth for a moment. “Hey, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began. She didn’t get to finish, alas, because just then a thundering  _ crack! _ sounded and next thing she knew, he was falling. Time slowed as he fell, arms reaching out to her and fear in his wide, sunset eyes. 

Artemita was moving before she thought to. Her mittened hand grasped his wrist and his fingers closed around her arm. Her other hand came to hold his arm as well and she pulled as hard as she could. Another, more muted pop sounded and he cried out. She must have dislocated his shoulder, but she couldn’t care because finally,  _ finally, _ he was on the bridge, safe. Her hand slipped from her mitten and his grip and he fell to his knees, shaking. Artemita stumbled back, slipping on a stray patch of ice, and crashed into the railing on the other side. For a fraction of a moment she thought  _ perhaps it will hold, _ but then she kept falling. 

Her arms flailed for purchase, but she only found more railing which followed her over the edge. She saw his face, heard his voice calling her, but couldn’t tell what he said. She felt a strange calm, seeing him safe on the bridge, clutching his injured arm.  _ Don’t be afraid, _ she thought.  _ You said we’d be together forever, didn’t you?  _ He looked confused. She must’ve spoken aloud.

 

_ “Because I love you, Remi.”  _

 

* * *

 

Artemita had expected to die as soon as she hit the water. She did not. Instead, she was wide awake. The current carried her swiftly away from the bridge, away from him. She didn’t really mind, though. The cold water felt like fire, a warm blanket that engulfed her. She tried to take a breath, to soothe her burning lungs, but that only made it worse. There was no air to be had down here.

Blackness blurred the edge of her vision and even her thoughts began to slow. She felt her forehead knock on something.  _ Ice _ , she realized.  _ I’m trapped under the ice. _ So there was really no way to get out of this one. She didn’t particularly mind that, either. She felt calm, despite the pain in her chest. Was it her lungs, desperate for air? Or the thought of never seeing him smile again? She couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter, though, because the blackness had finally engulfed her vision and her mind had finally gone blank.


	2. "Hope is not a substitute for pain. Hope is in spite of pain."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Romil has to rediscover a meaning.

Romil had stopped going to the winter festival. It was the third pheob since he’d last gone and he sat in the home that he used to share, sipping a mug of cider that had gone cold. The spice wasn’t so strong as it was when he’d shared it with her. 

A thick, rough blanket was draped over his shoulders. He stared blankly into the fire that had begun to go out in the fireplace. Outside, he heard chatter on the streets. People were working hard, even into the night, to prepare for the festivities. The first quintant of the festival was tomorrow, and the city was decorated vibrantly. His neighbors had offered to go with him this year, but he politely declined, telling them he was tired lately. It wasn’t a complete lie; Romil was tired. He was tired of waking up without her. He was tired of seeing the joy he used to feel himself and not comprehending how they could have such mirth when  _ she _ wasn’t here. 

Romil regretted not going with her more often. Perhaps then, the festival would be a fonder memory. Instead, he drained the last of his cold cider and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. 

“How can I have joy as that without her?” He whispered to no one. Not a soul heard the tremor in his voice, there was no comforting presence to tell him it’d be okay. The house was silent, save his shaky breath and the cracking of the dying fire. There was nothing left except embers, now. They glowed dimly in the quiet house. He frowned at them.

_ “Your eyes look like embers when you cry,”  _ she used to say.  _ “Like dying firelight. It is beautiful, but it makes me so sad.” _

Romil stood abruptly, snatching a glass from his cupboard and filling it with water. He marched back to the fireplace and threw the water over the smoldering coals. They hissed angrily and Romil huffed at them, tears threatening to fall.  _ Embers _ . He sniffled and rubbed angrily at his eyes, sobbing weakly all the while. 

 

The next morning, Romil awoke late into the afternoon. The sun was past the center of the sky, and soon it would melt over the horizon into dusk. Romil stared, ignoring the burn in his eyes. Eventually, he blinked. Colorful spots dotted his vision and he blinked rapidly to vanish them. He took his time in slipping out from under his blankets and pulling his clothes onto his body. He did so without thought, taking a backseat to his mind as his body moved at a snail’s pace. He ate a cold, bland breakfast. His eyes watched the people outside his window without truly seeing them, unfollowing of the movement and life of their bodies. 

_ Empty. _ The word surprised him, uncontested in his mind. That word alone bounced around in his head, echoing and growing louder until he couldn’t think if he tried.  _ Empty. _ Was that how he felt? He’d always called himself sad, mourning. That was true once, but now? Now, more often than crying he found himself staring off into the distance, his mind silent. Now, he could find no reason to rouse himself from bed some days. Romil didn’t feel sad, he felt empty. So why was he crying? 

He supposed it was because of the emptiness. The gaping chasm in his chest ached and the pit in his stomach burned. He felt hollow and heavy and it  _ hurt _ . His breathing became erratic and shallow and he pressed a hand to his chest to perhaps stop the burning in his throat as he desperately gasped for breath. He coughed and choked, his body fighting itself for air between sobs. 

He missed her and in her absence, he felt nothing but that horrifying emptiness. It hurt so much. The sting of air down his throat and the fire in his lungs was nothing in comparison.  _ Was this what she felt?  _ He wondered.  _ Was this burning the same in her chest as it is in mine? _

When finally he could breathe again, he made up his mind. Perhaps he would attend the festival tonight. Perhaps he would find the answers to his questions. Perhaps he would see her again.

 

When Romil had finally dragged himself to the square, he had no idea where to start. He didn’t want to go to his destination just yet. Determined as he may be, Romil was still not quite ready. To stall for time, perhaps, he found his way to the cider stand. The same man ran the small shop, grinning at Romil as he approached. He ordered two ciders from the beaming man who didn’t seem to recognize him. Romil held out three pieces in his mitten-clad hand.

“Only two pieces, sir,” said the shopkeep. Romil smiled.

“Keep the extra. It’s the festival, after all.”

 

Romil sat to drink his cider. It burned his lips ever so slightly as he took a sip, but he paid it no mind. The other mug sat steaming across the small wooden table. He watched the small tendrils of steam waft up from the mug, releasing the sweet scent of spice and fruit into the chilly air. He glanced down at the drink in his hands. Both were wrapped around it, still in their mittens. His right mitten was a thick, blue one. The other wasn’t quite so thick and was a deep maroon rather than a navy blue. He took off the blue mitten and set it beside the other hot mug.

When he had finished his cup of cider, he slipped the blue mitten back on and scooped up the second mug, which had stopped steaming now. He cradled the drink to his chest, taking not a single sip as he made his way to his objective. He slowed as he saw the bridge come into view.  _ No one ever fixed the gaps in the railing, _ he noticed with some resentment.  _ I wonder if anyone even knows what happened here. _

Romil stopped in the middle of the bridge, right between both spaces. He screwed his eyes shut to will away the memory of her face, her words. 

 

“ _ Because I love you, Remi. _ ”

 

He leaned over, setting the mug down on the edge of the bridge and the blue mitten beside it. He crouched down, staring out over the fast-moving water. He imagined what it would feel like, to be swept away by the strong current; to be trapped and helpless with the knowledge that he was dying. His desire to find out grew. Romil rocked precariously on the balls of his feet, too close to the edge.  _ What if it was an accident? What if I didn't really mean to fall? Would anyone blame me then? _

Just as he leaned back, prepared to have his feet slip and his center of balance tip, a small meow caught his ear. Beside him was a cat, still young. The creature was thin and shivering, pressing close to Romil, desperate for his warmth. He chuckled in disbelief at many things and stroked its tabby head. His chuckle became a laugh and as he quieted to giggles, tears streaked over his cheeks.

“Alright, little one,” he said, lifting the kitten into his lap. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

He decided to name her Tema.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I wrote this instead of updating my most current ongoing fic, The Infamous. W H O O P S .


End file.
